


Paint With the Blood of Our Blood

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His palette is too cold, almost arctic, full of blues and whites, gray, blank and chilling -- there is nothing cold about this man before him, golden skin, a smile as bright as the sun with dimples flashing, ocean eyes swirling happily but with hidden depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint With the Blood of Our Blood

Jensen cradles the brush in his right hand, fingers curled loosely around the acrylic-painted wood, hand hanging uselessly by his side, and stares, stunned into a mute hazy trance, at the colours of the oil paint on the palette clutched in his left before flicking his gaze back up to the man who has just walked through the classroom door. It gets caught in the sight before him, the white of this man’s smile trapping Jensen’s eyes in a silken spider web. His palette is too cold, almost arctic, full of blues and whites, gray, blank and chilling -- there is nothing cold about this man before him, golden skin, a smile as bright as the sun with dimples flashing, ocean eyes swirling happily but with hidden depth. Jensen’s fingers ache to paint him, an ache that starts in his hand and spreads, visceral and throbbing.    
  
The man shakes hands with Jensen’s teacher, large hands swamping her tiny fingers and he watches as Ms. Madden flutters flirtingly, trills to the class in her sycophantic voice, “And this is Jared, our new model. Everyone, be nice, please.” A wave of muttering crashes through the room, a question hanging from every moving mouth.   
  
‘Jared,’ he thinks, the name hanging heavily in his head. Jensen rolls it around in his mouth, tests the taste of it and finds it rich and mysterious. His aching need to paint him intensifies, blood pulsing in time to his throbbing heartbeat. Jensen takes in Jared’s long limbs encased in soft blue denim, rips in the knees, flashes of tanned skin surrounded by the white of frayed jeans; drags his eyes up to a narrow waist and broad shoulders draped in a red and blue checked shirt, sleeves rolled up, well-muscled forearms an even deeper gold, hairs glinting in the soft light emanating from the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Jensen doesn’t have any brown on his wooden palette. He needs something richer than chocolate, something shot through with shimmering gold, a colour to drown in and lather the canvas with. Something to capture that golden glow gleaming off Jared’s skin. Jensen licks his lips and swallows through a suddenly dry mouth, the roll of his throat sensuous in this moment, skin overheated and flushed.   
  
And then Jared disappears behind the partition at the end of the room, by the door, and it feels like the warmth in the room got sucked away with him, all the light, and Jensen shivers, turning to his collection of oil paints and scraping off the now unusable colours; he can’t even comprehend using them, their hues so inadequate. Around him, the rustling movement of his fellow classmates echo strangely in his ears, subdued and distorted through the pounding of his head.   
  
Ms’ Madden walks to the centre of the room where a plain wooden chair has been placed, the wood pale and light, and turns it at angle, facing away from the door, taking a moment to view it with her critical eye. She then begins to speak.   
  
“Today, we are doing something different. I think it’s time you moved away from still life, where you have all grown and gotten a decent grasp of perception.” She pauses and gestures towards the partition Jared had disappeared behind. “Jared is going to posing nude for you because I want you to focus on the complexity of...”   
  
Everything else washes away and Jensen struggles to breathe, throat locked down and too full of his heart, thundering and he shudders, heat spreading though him, centred low in his stomach, pulsing hotly. All that golden tanned skin on display. Jensen moves quickly, hands shifting through the collection of metal tubes of paint, fingers trebling, panicked. He knows, deep down when something burns too bright, that he  _has_  to get this right; he has to paint Jared the way Jared is, the way the world should always see him, the way Jensen wants the world to see this beautiful, warm, mysterious man.    
  
So caught up is he in this tremulous panic to get this idea right and his need to create the most perfect colour combination that he misses Jared leave the partition and only wakes out of his focused concentration when he sees a flash of dark marine blue as Ms. Madden takes the robe Jared had been wearing and leaves him naked, nothing but golden skin for miles and miles and miles. Jensen freezes because  _Jared is facing him directly_ , whole body in front of him and he can see warm skin coating muscles, dusky nipples and the dark hair covering his shins and thighs, the trail leading from navel to crotch and Jensen -- Jensen can’t do anything except lick his lips and swallow audibly; he is so glad that he is half hidden behind his canvas.   
  
Jared must have heard him because his eyes swing from the floor up to his face, eyes so dark and deep Jensen imagines he could fall into them. He flushes as their gazes lock, lips twitching nervously, wanting to be a smile and Jared just looks at him, gaze so heated and cavernous, and then doesn’t stop.   
  
The world slows down and stops, seconds trickling by, grains of sand falling in an hourglass, Jensen drowning in the swirling green and blue of Jared’s eyes, drowning and he can’t bring himself to care. His paintbrush moves of its own accord, gliding through the paint collected on the palette and shifts to the canvas. Something snaps in Jensen, hot and heavy and hard, breaking and shattering and becoming something new. He begins to paint, alternating between slashing at the canvas’ surface with his brush and then caressing it gently with a lover’s touch. He moves in a trance, the heavy weight of Jared’s gaze on his at all times and it trills through him, building up a frenzied heat between them. Jensen is panting with the force of his painting, with this  _need_  to paint Jared until he either collapses or until he spends all the creative tension within him or runs out of paint. It feels like everything is moving with him, blending together to the beat of Jensen’s heart and he knows he will never be able to let go of this feeling, the way Jared’s eyes light him up on the inside.   
  
Jensen is never letting Jared go, blood pumping through him and pushing onto the canvas, this inexorable feeling that has sunk its hooks into him. He looks up and his eyes catch and loc onto Jared’s. The promise imprinted there makes Jensen’s skin sing and he swears he can feel it press against his lips. ‘Later,’ Jared’s expression seems to say and Jensen can help but agree.


End file.
